Through the Veil
by Riel Sanet
Summary: Harry Potter is immortal. Fed up with endless life, he tries the one thing he hasn't done to start over: walking though the Veil. immortal!harry
1. Through the Veil

Harry Potter was happy, for the longest time after he defeated Voldemort, until he was not.

* * *

It started as unease, then grew to a crushing realization and pain. Harry Potter, you see, was not growing older. He was doomed to immortality. Destined to watch his

friends die around him and unable to join them. To outlive his generation's children and their children and their children grow old and perish. Resigned to living beyond

the inevitable end of our planet, and beyond planets and planets after that.

As his dearest friend, Hermione, died, her weathered and wrinkled hands clasped willfully around Harry's own. To pull them apart would have been the greatest act of blasphemy, and to try to stifle the tears that glistened like raindrops on the man in boy's skin's face would have been the greatest act of cowardice. Hermione was the last of his friends: all the others had died long ago, and so Harry Potter set out to make a name for himself and do as Hermione had commanded with her last breath, to live and be happy. He tried, he really did. He got close to many and pulled away from society when they died. Then he would seclude himself for a few decades and try to resist the pull of companionship, countering with the remembrance of loss, but it was no use. Hermione's words were the queen of the chessboard: they won every time. And thus began the never ending cycle, until one day, he just couldn't stand it anymore, He decided to do something else, do something different.

* * *

And so Harry Potter stepped through the Veil.


	2. The Arrival

**Hello to anyone reading this. If you have any questions or suggestions or anything else please review. If you're going to review, please don't be a hater.**

 **Forgot to mention this, but _I do not own any of this. This all belongs to the genius that is J. K. Rowling._**

 **Thanks!**

* * *

Harry could not feel his body, in fact, he wasn't even sure that he had a body. He could feel his own presence, but he could not see through eyes or breath through a mouth. He wasn't dying or in pain, but he could sense things with his mind, his conscious, not his body. Harry did not know how long he drifted about in the Veil before a voice spoke.

"Harry Potter. Why have you jumped into the unknown?"

Harry answered honestly, instinctively knowing how to communicate in the strange, misty space, "I wished to be free. To be happy, with friends that cannot die and leave me. I thought maybe I might die by falling through the veil, and so could join my family."

The voice was silent for a long while, then spoke slowly, "I am willing to assist you. I could send you to another place where you would be happy. You are the owner of the Hallows and therefore unable to die. _I_ do not wish for you to stay here, and this seems like the only alternative."

Harry could not care less about the voice's motives and was caught up in a flurry of excitement, relief, happiness, and most of all, gratitude. "Thank you!" He replied enthusiastically. The voice responded with a wave of appreciation that Harry could _feel_ in the same way he could 'hear' it talking. A question popped into his head and Harry blurted out, "Who are you?"

The voice answered with a distinctly amused air, "I am the Veil, had you not yet figured it out?"

* * *

Harry woke suddenly by a castle. It was Hogwarts, and the magnificent beauty swept his breath away, as it did every time he saw the wonder. Granted, it had been a few centuries since Harry had visited Hogwarts. The last time he had come was when his great-great-like-ten-greats granddaughter had been headmistress. This, of course, was before all of Harry's descendants had died out. The intricacy of the turrets and walls and towers was art, and the architecture was magic (literally). He started strolling leisurely towards the huge edifice and caught sight of four students walking towards him. The first, and tallest, had dark hair, ice blue eyes, and a cunning air. The other three were a group of two brunettes and a blond. They all sported aristocratic features and blank masks. They looked like dolls. Ruthless, manipulative dolls with pretty faces. However, these dolls had no strings that another could play puppet master with. They were the puppet masters of the world.

They seemed oddly familiar, and Harry racked his brain to find them. After digging through his memories for several minutes, their identities came to him in a Eureka moment, if you will. Like lightning. Once he'd remembered the leader, the others were easy enough to pinpoint. He called it out, as they were not 50 meters apart at this point, and drawing nearer still. "Are you Tom Riddle? And are the rest of you not a Malfoy, Black and Lestrange?"

Their expressions stayed the same for the most part: devoid of emotion, but a slight widening in the lackey's eyes showed their shock at being identified be a total stranger who looked at Hogwarts like an old friend and yet couldn't be older than sixteen, their own age. They knew they would've recognized the newcomer if he had been a student in any one of their years at Hogwarts: they were purebloods, trained to remember such things from a young age. They were wary now, of the stranger that knew too much.

Tom replied coldly but not quite hostilely, "We are. Now who are you?" The words were structured to be a question, but the demanding inflection to the sentence made it into an obvious command.

"I am Caelum Peverell." The lie slipped out easily. It was an alias Caelum had used many times before in the past, and he practically used it to refer to himself in his mind by now. 'Oh!' Caelum thought suddenly, the hindsight hitting him like a bullet, Peverell was the name of the brothers, the original owners of the Deathly Hallows. The teens would easily connect the name to the story.

"Peverell?" The sharp inquiry was exactly as Caelum had suspected, but he didn't let any emotion slip through his own mask which was solidly in place.

"Yes" Caelum answered curtly, making it clear that he knew what they were asking about and that he would not let anything slip.

Tom Riddle and his companions exchanged cautious glances before Tom sighed reluctantly, "I guess you should be taken to Headmaster Dippet."

The party of five walked inside silently, casting appraising looks at each other as they entered the school for what appeared to be Caelum's first time.

* * *

 **Okay! A few things:**

 **-first, from now on, Harry is called Caelum**

 **-this is 1942 or 1943, whatever year Tom and Co. are in sixth year**

 **-Caelum is going to be put in sixth year, so he's going to be sixteen (Master of Death at 16, don't ask me how)**

 **-the reason Caelum didn't straight off kill Riddle is because he's practically over that whole dark lord thing: it was millenia ago for Caelum**


	3. The Sorting

**Hello to anyone reading this. If you have any questions or suggestions or anything else please review. If you're going to review, please don't be a hater.**

 **Disclaimer: _I do not own any of this. This all belongs to the genius that is J. K. Rowling._**

 _"Sorting Hat"_

 _ **"Parseltongue"**_

 **"Harry's Thoughts"**

 **Thanks!**

* * *

Caelum sat meekly in Headmaster Dippet's office. For now, Dumbledore was just the Transfiguration professor. He had not yet acquired the light base for his future manipulations. Yes, Harry Potter, HARRY POTTER! had been manipulated by the Leader of the Light, the Defender of Goodness. Caelum had not realized it until his early third century when he'd gotten curious, put together some clues, and done some digging. A few things had bothered him, for instance, why was he left at a residence where Dumbledore knew he was being mistreated? Why were the Weasleys waiting so conveniently at King's Cross and talking so loudly about magic in front of _muggles?_ Why did no one notice that the Hogwarts letter was addresses to the _cupboard under the stairs_? Curse the "Greater Good." Caelum was glad that the students weren't quite so much under the influence of the Lord of Light, but he still had plans to off him. Eventually.

The Headmaster was prattling on about houses and dorms and the like. It had already been decided that Caelum would be sorted into sixth year then join their classes. He had claimed to have been home schooled and recently orphaned. With the terror that was Grindewald roaming Wizarding Europe, it wasn't uncommon for there to be many orphans. Although it was common for transfers into Hogwarts. Caelum honestly wondered about that. He brushed it off easily by concluding that it was likely that the orphaned wizards and witches were probably already enrolled in school. That night was, coincidentally, September first, the first day of school. They had agreed to sort him the following morning. Caelum fully expected to be a Gryffindor, as he had been before. He shrugged at the thought, he would end up wherever - it didn't really matter to him. Caelum had gotten over house predjudices ages ago (literally!)

The bed was cushy and soft enough and the blankets provided adequate warmth for him, but Caelum couldn't sleep. Tom Riddle was on his mind. How should he treat the younger and considerably more innocent version of his parent's killer? Sure, he actually was over it now: it was war, but still, was it right to act _friendly_ to him? Considering yourself over him after he's dead and actually seeing him every day and still holding by that decision were two entirely different things. Caelum put it off for the moment, thinking that there was a very little chance that Riddle would take an interest in him. I mean out of a year of at least three hundred, and approximately eighty other Slytherins, why would he bother with Caelum, who would likely not even be in Slytherin. His mind temporarily at ease, Caelum drifted off quickly. Contentedly gazing at the charmed ceiling that looked as if the stars were twinkling merrily at him and the moon was watching over him.

The next morning, Caelum shoved on his glasses then put on the clothes the Headmaster had provided for him. They were very old-fashioned, it being 1942, but the general style of robes and cloaks was basically the same. There was a button-down white shirt with a collar and grey tie. The pants were khaki colored and rather formal. His robes were a standard black, the rich material surprisingly undecorated. Caelum had an anonymous, grey badge on his robes that was presumedly spelled to turn into the emblem of his future house once he was sorted. The shoes were quite fancy: black dress shoes, and his glasses were mysteriously missing. A note by the magic mirror said to drink the potion sitting next to it, as it cured bad eyesight. Caelum looked at the milky green potion skeptically, but decided that it couldn't kill him and chugged it down. It had to be the _worst_ tasting potion he had ever tasted: it was grosser than skelegrow! He pushed down the reflexive gag and sat down to steady himself. Then, his eyesite worsened, getting fuzzy and unclear. Caelum was puzzled for a brief minute before realizing this was because he still had his glasses on. He yanked them off and gasped in awe. Everything was so _clear_! He could see little details and colors he'd never noticed before, even with glasses. He gazed at everything wonderingly for a few seconds before smiling broadly and leaving the room to go down to breakfast.

After all the students had arrived at the Great Hall, the Headmaster stood excitedly, motioning for all conversation to cease. The students looked at him curiously, the older years actually more unsettled than the first years, who hadn't the slightest idea that this wasn't a common event. The Headmaster gestured for Caelum to stand, he had been sitting at the staff table and was also watching Headmaster Dippet expectantly.

Dippet cleared his throat and started speaking, "Students of Hogwarts, we are here to welcome a new student, Caelum Peverell." The name caused some rippled of recognition among the purebloods and halfbloods, especially at the Slytherin table, where Tom and Co. were looking sharply. "He is going into his sixth year and is to be sorted now. I hope you give him a very warm welcome!" The Headmaster continued, unfazed by the sudden muttering. Slughorn, another face whom Caelum hadn't seen in quite a while, beckoned me down to the stool where the firsties had been sorted and held out the wrinkled hat. It looked no different than it had been a half century later, at his first sorting.

The wrinkled hat was placed on Caelums head and he closed his eyes to listen to the being.

 _"Hello Mr. Peverell, or should I say Mr. Potter. It's been quite some time since I last sorted you, or maybe I just haven't sorted you yet."_

 **"I really don't know. So, what do you think about me in any of the houses?"** Caelum was honestly curious at the hat's assessment of him.

 _"You would destroy the Hufflepuffs: although you have a kind nature, your suffering is beyond such innocent childrens' comprehension. Ravenclaw is out. You know much: you've learnt all the languages known, mastered all known spells and created a dozen more, and can quote all the books of the Hogwarts library word for word, however, you did not seek this knowledge out of enjoyment, but rather boredom. Gryffindor is close: you've endured unimaginable pain with a straight face and been quite courageous, but the present you isn't as selfless as you might think. You used to be, but you have aged millenia and grown much. I think Slytherin is the only real option for you. They have at least some inkling of your hardships and the parseltongue certainly helps along the decision. Also, placing you in the snake's den is what the Veil wishes me to do to help you, and he and I are good friends. What do you think of this?"_

Caelum was stunned, but he realized that he knew that what the hat had said was true. He honestly had no reason not to go to Slytherin and actually the hat's words about the Veil swayed his opinion as well. He wondered slightly about them though, but what motive could the Sorting Hat have to deceive him? He thought back, **"I guess, I don't really care: whatever you think."**

 _"Alright then, SLYTHERIN"_ The last word was yelled loudly to the crowd and they cheered enthusiastically. **"** **Wow,"** Caelum thought, he never knew how much had changed in between now and his original time. At his first sorting, Slytherins had been clapped for politely, but never cheered for with the vigor that fueled them for the other three houses. Caelum rose gracefully and walked over to the table, sitting at the only open chair, at the end of the table. Over the many years, Caelum had grown shrewd and political, and he could easily tell that this was the lowest ranking seat of the house. It was apparent that Slytherin had a powerful hierarchy, and for a second, Caelum was exasperated. **"** **Things were so easy in Gryffindor!"** Then another thought came to him and he smirked, **"** **Slytherin will never know what hit them."**

* * *

 **Okay! A few things to clarify:**

 **-Caelum is politically smart. He's shrewd. Manipulative.**

 **-This does not mean he's dark, actually, his magic is rather dark, but that's just a side effect of the whole Master of Death thing.**

 **Anything else - ask in a review! I will try to explain/answer.**


	4. SURPRISE! Also, dinnertime!

**Hello to anyone reading this. If you have any questions or suggestions or anything else please review. If you're going to review, please don't be a hater.**

 **Disclaimer: _I do not own any of this. This all belongs to the genius that is J. K. Rowling._**

 _ **"Parseltongue"**_

 **"Caelum's Thoughts"**

 **Thanks!**

* * *

Caelum sat at the table of Snakes and decided he would rule them. Or not. He had plenty of time to think about it. Hmmm, it might be fun to be co-emporers with Riddle! In fact, that would be hilarious . . .

But what he was certain about, however, was that this would be fun. He cackled internally as he contemplated all the ways to make his fellow students suffer! Like metaphorically, you know, torturing their minds, like figurative- never mind. Just never mind. Howeeveeer, know that he had plans to keep them on their toes . . .

He watched as the social tension thickened as Riddle glared at one of his cronies for something or the other. The unfortunate fellow cringed in his seat, attempting to hide his terrified expression . . . and failing. Miserably. Riddle was sitting at the head of the table, signifying his absolute power. To his left were Abraxus Malfoy, Cygnus Lestrange then Berran Avery. To his right were Arcturus Black, Julius Rosier and Marius Carrow. They were all his followers *think baby death eaters* and his absolute right hand men were Arcturus Black, Cygnus Lestrange, and Abraxus Malfoy, he could tell: they looked over the rest of us with a little more authority. Mindless lackeys. Could they not see how Riddle was playing them. It was quite masterful, and Caelum, with his above average IQ and years of experience (I know, he's modest too, right?) could appreciate it fully. Oh, but to witness the beautiful artwork of the master!

If you didn't notice, that was only partially admiring. Part of the poor master-of-death was scorning at this insignificance compared to watching the rise and fall of nations, but enough on that now!

Caelum watched half-heartedly as the higher years exchanged subtle barbs of scandals and politics and blood. It was _fascinating_! But the larger part of him was planning, or as he liked to call it, scheming. He planned first to ally with his dorm mates, then he could sway a larger population of the school, and not just the Slytherins. Sure, they were good for some stuff, but to have an empire, you had to have the secretaries and janitors and idols and generally the useless and/or popular people that can do the menial work and/or be beacons of morality that support the empire and lead the public (for his cause of course).

He looked down to eat some strawberries (ambrosia, for sure) and took delicate bites to savor the fruit he hadn't had since the zombie apocalypse in year 2741 when they went extinct. When Caelum looked up again it was to the cold, calculating eyes of Mister Riddle himself. He looked vaguely interested in the transfer in his year, but those emotionally veiled eyes were hard to read. They were sharp, like a razor edged knife, and with an undetectable shiver Caelum imagined them slicing right through his skull, for the grey-blue menaces looked as if they were able to draw your very thoughts out of your brain. Well, at least he had occlumency, eh?

* * *

 ** _Tom's POV_**

Tom sat on his throne, looking for all intents a lounging panther, relaxed, but able to be predatory, killing intent included, in an instant. His minions were looking at him, wondering about that Caelum Peverell. He had to admit, he knew the name. But a children's story would never be true, could it? Old Beedle the Bard had probably just based his tale after a Peverell he had met on one of his journeys. After all, Peverell was a pureblood name, and most of those "noble" families had been around since the Dark Ages at latest. However the minion itself was being presumptuous, assuming to ask him about the newcomer. The lackey had no business in this! Tom shot a glare at the offending person, wishing with all of that there were less witnesses. No, it did not matter, there was plenty of time for torture later.

He gazed at the boy, who looked so delicate, yet was full of a steel that showed imperceptibly in his aura, only visible to ones as sensitive to magic, as powerful as Tom. A strength only known to those who had razed kingdoms and killed murders and emperors in the same swing of his sword. Who did not differentiate by the innocence of children nor the wisdom of age, but by his own whims, and who he wished to slaughter in his boredom. All of this Tom realized in a single second, when Caelum's eyes flashed with power and his posture screamed 'Danger!' before he presumedly remembered himself and reverted back to a shy, sweet demeanor with just as much speed and unpredictability as he had changed in the first place. The mask donned again as soon as Caelum had shed its weight. Then he set down his fork as their eyes met.

And Tom looked hard at him, trying to read the eyes of this boy. It was easy to tell what his followers were thinking by just a hint of their form and a look in their eyes, but Caelum was like a steel wall, unreadable. Even in the orphanage with all of its broken children there had been nobody like this. No one had been able to shield themselves from him. He swallowed a hint of nostalgia for Sal, who had known back before he could read anybody. But he wouldn't dwell on such thoughts now. Not until he was alone and could cry and sob and no one would witness his weakness.

He swallowed the wishing that maybe if he had gone to Gryffindor or (gods forbid, his rational mind said) Hufflepuff, he might have been happy. He violently squashed the thoughts, there could be none of that, for he was _Slytherin,_ and although he was their ruler, they would not hesitate to tear him into tiny pieces if he showed even a hint of weakness. He ruled by fear, not love, for he was a Slytherin, and they were made of iron, or broken. And Tom refused to be broken.

And so he pushed up walls in front of those thoughts, and kept his posture perfect and ate with impeccable manners. And he died, a thousand deaths. Every time he forgot Sal, his friend (No, his brother. The thoughts in his head were insistent) his soul darkened in death. Agonizing, shattering, bone breaking, death that made him cry and wish in his heart of hearts that heaven was real. And that maybe he might go there when he died. Where he could cry and laugh when he wanted and maybe see his mother. Who he had loved before he told himself when he was four that _she_ had died and that _she_ was the reason that the eight year olds were beating him up and the seven year olds were laughing at him and the ten year olds had broken him arm. Three times.

He wanted to glare at the boy (no - man, his instincts told him) that had caused him to feel all this emotion and he wanted to hug him for it. But either way, he was interested.

* * *

 ** _Lady Magic's POV_**

This had been her plan. She watched happily (no, not happy, because she could never be happy with the hurt her children had caused the two) as they watched each other. Caelum (Andell, she wanted to call him) watched Tom (she wanted to call _him_ Venith). And Tom watched Caelum.

Two of her children, broken. But they would heal each other. She knew this, as Fate herself had said so. Then, once they were mended (sewn up, painstakingly by the other) she would have her her revenge on the world that had caused her children this pain. They were her only true children, but they had been lost in the cycle of reincarnation and she had not seen them as Andell and Venith for two million years.

And that is a long time for a mother.

* * *

 **Aaaaannnndddd, that's a wrap! I'm sorry for the wait, but I just kept putting it off until today. So! What do you think, Andell and Venith, children of Magic herself. I totally didn't see that one coming (well as much as I can't see something when I'm writing it)! It just snuck up on me, (sneaky idea!) all of a sudden and I was like, why not? So yeah.**

 **Okay, so Magic is their mother and they are brothers, so there will be no Tom/Harry. They will have like a brotherly relationship.  
Ya know, this is really not going anywhere I thought it would. But I'm just not up to writing dark politics, just dark fluff!**

 **REVIEW! And like favorite if you want or whatever. Well, tell me what you think about this weird plot twist thing. Please. Tell me if you hate it, but be constructively criticizing, not hating, okay people?**

 **Andell = Harry/Caelum**

 **Venith = Tom/Voldemort**


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